The Adulteress

by Noelle Harrison

  NICHOLAS

  Nicholas teaches Geraldine some simple duets. Mrs Kerr’s book of duets, the same melodies he used to play with his mum. They sit side by side on the piano stool, and Geraldine is laughing, and he feels quite jolly as their fingers move in and out of each other, not quite touching. His chest is tight with the excitement of playing the duet perfectly. Geraldine stretches across him and he breathes in. They have only kissed the once, on her birthday. But now there is something unspoken between them. He doesn’t want her, and yet he does. She is not his type, but despite that there is something attractive about her. He doesn’t want to get involved with a married woman who has a child. It is wrong. She is a countrywoman, and apart from the piano they have nothing in common. And yet it is such a relief not to have to prove himself, but to be admired so absolutely. It is easy to see that Geraldine has a crush on him. Nicholas has to be careful. He doesn’t want to take advantage of her.

  Now, when Geraldine and Nicholas drink their morning coffee and eat apple-and-cinnamon muffins she has baked with the apples that he gave her, Nicholas finds himself telling Geraldine about Charlie.

  ‘I was only going to spend one summer in Ireland. My father was Irish and I wanted to check out my roots. I was staying with a cousin in Dublin, planning to head west, but there was no work at all. So I thought I’d better go back to London. Just the day before I was due to go, I met Charlie. Love at first sight, like they say. I stayed. Got a shitty job washing up in a restaurant kitchen. We moved in together about six weeks after we met, and then we got married a year later.’

  ‘Is Charlie short for Charlotte?’ Geraldine asks, pouring more cream into her coffee.

  ‘Yes, but she prefers to be known as Charlie. She has this theory that there are certain assumptions made in the art world, if people know what gender you are. You see, she’s an artist. So that’s why she calls herself Charlie. I think it suits her more than Charlotte.’

  ‘What does she look like?’ Geraldine asks quietly.

  ‘Tall, skinny, long black hair. A bit like a witch.’ He laughs, rather too bitterly, and Geraldine looks at him enquiringly, but says nothing. ‘She cheated on me. That’s why we broke up.’ Nicholas speaks bluntly. He gets up and puts their dirty mugs in the sink.

  Geraldine follows him, places her hand on his shoulder. ‘She must be crazy,’ she says softly.

  Eventually Nicholas gets a text message, but it is not from Charlie. It is from Kev, telling him that a friend, Simon, is playing a gig in Cavan. He can’t go, but he thought Nicholas might be interested. Nicholas invites Geraldine without thinking.

  ‘I’m just asking you as a friend,’ he explains. ‘You can bring your husband.’

  ‘Oh God, no,’ Geraldine laughs. ‘He hates that sort of thing. Are you sure you don’t mind? I mean, don’t you want to hang out with your own friends?’

  ‘It’s just Simon, and he’ll be playing. I’d love you to come.’

  The gig is in a small venue at the back of a pub in Cavan town. It has stone walls, with long trestle tables, and is lit by candles.

  ‘This is lovely,’ Geraldine comments. ‘I never knew this place was here.’

  Nicholas gets them both a pint of Guinness. He bumps into Simon at the bar.

  ‘Sorry about Charlie,’ Simon says. ‘Is that the new woman in your life?’ He indicates Geraldine.

  ‘No way, she’s just a friend.’

  Nicholas notices Simon taking a good look at him and Geraldine before he goes on stage. He realizes guiltily that he wanted to bring Geraldine with him so that Simon would see him with another woman. Maybe word would even get back to Charlie. Geraldine is beaming. She is in blue tonight, and it suits her better than her usual choice of pink or white.

  ‘You look nice,’ he says.

  ‘Thank you.’ She wriggles in her seat. ‘This is so great. I don’t think I’ve been out to see music since . . . since before Grainne was born.’

  ‘But that was over eight years ago! Surely not?’

  ‘You have no idea how boring my life has become since I’ve been married.’

  Nicholas stays sober. He is driving. Geraldine’s cheeks get rosier and rosier, the more she drinks. She is fun to be with, witty and interested in what he has to say. They talk about music and his attempts at composition, her childhood dreams of performing as a pianist.

  ‘It’s never too late,’ Nick says. ‘You have come such a long way in such a short time. You definitely have a talent, Geraldine.’

  ‘Really?’ She puts her head on one side. ‘You’re not just saying that now, are you?’

  ‘No, I mean it.’

  ‘Shit!’ Geraldine suddenly sits back against the wall and pulls her hair over her face. ‘I don’t bloody believe it.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Only the biggest gossip in Cavan has come through the door. What the hell is she doing here?’

  Nicholas looks at a tall blonde-haired woman who is making for the bar.

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Susan Smyth. She’s Ray’s first cousin. Christ! Has she seen us?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Did you not tell your husband you were going out to a gig with me tonight?’

  Geraldine blushes. ‘No . . .’ she stutters. ‘He can be a bit jealous. I thought it best not to.’

  ‘Right.’ Nicholas silently curses himself for being such an idiot. ‘Maybe we should go.’

  ‘Wait till she sits down, then we’ll sneak through the crowd.’

  Geraldine is giggling as they weave through the throng and out the back door. Nicholas tries to be discreet, but it is a small place. The chances are they will be seen. How stupid this is. What does he think he is doing, taking another man’s wife out for the night?

  ‘I better get you home,’ he says, opening the car door.

  Geraldine is standing in the car park, shivering, her bare arms covered in goosebumps. ‘But it’s still early,’ she grumbles, ‘let’s go for another drink.’

  ‘I think you’ve had enough.’

  They get in the car and Nicholas turns on the ignition. Geraldine puts her hand on his arm. ‘What’s wrong, Nick?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry, Geraldine. This is wrong. I shouldn’t have taken you out. I shouldn’t have kissed you. You’re married . . . I’m still married . . .’

  She leans over and kisses him on the lips. Then she pulls her head back and looks at him, her eyes black and glittering. Their breath steams up the windscreen, and he can feel desire filling his veins again.

  ‘Kiss me. Please,’ she whispers.

  He tastes the beer on her breath, and feels her damp legs pushed against his in the front of the car.

  He kisses her back, she holds onto his shoulders and he looks at her closed eyes, the make-up sparkling on her lids. He gently pushes her back into her seat.

  ‘Geraldine,’ he says, ‘we can’t do this.’

  JUNE

  The night is black here in Cavan, darker than anywhere I have been in England. The woods keep out any light that might stray from the village or the road. Sometimes I feel like the house is an island, and I am the only one left behind, not only by my husband, but by everyone. I think back to my bustling university days and I see a different me, a young woman with only her studies to think about. I could indulge myself, spend hours poring over books, making notes on Julia Caesar. Now, when I go to pick up where I left off, I feel faintly guilty. I am a wife, soon to become a mother – surely I should be doing something more suited to these roles? Here I am hidden away in Ireland, as if caught in an enchanted glade, and beyond my periphery the world is killing each other, my husband a part of it. Yet that is why I have to write my thesis. It is a means of survival if I can escape from our time into the past.

  Sometimes I long to dream about Robert, see his face rise above me as I sleep, so that I can embrace him, imagine his touch once more, but he never comes . . . and then I fear the worst. Maybe at this moment, as I am tucked up safely
in our bed, he is flying to his death. Is it possible our child will never know his father?

  Instead of Robert, I dream about my sister Minerva. I see her the way she looked the day of Daddy’s memorial Mass, pale and thin, married just over a year and yet looking ten years older. In my dream she appeals to me, but I have become Mother and, to my horror, I lean across the tea table and slap her face. I wake up shocked by what I have dreamed.

  I sit up in bed and light a candle. I carry it to the window and look out into the dark night. I go back in time and I am looking out of another window, watching snow disintegrate into the angry sea. The sky is milky white, and the water looks dirty against it. Min and I are in the tea rooms in Brixham sitting by the fire. Soon we will have to go back outside and walk to the train station in thin coats. We are not prepared for the snow, yet the unwelcome bleakness of the weather conditions is entirely appropriate for the day’s events. The sleety wind’s icy bite against my flesh is a similar pain to the hurt that gnaws at my heart. How forlorn we look. Two abandoned, grieving daughters, sitting inside a scene from a picture. Everything is fuzzy around us – the kindly lady serving our tea, the gingham tablecloths and the floral teacups, plates and saucers, linen napkins and silver spoons – yet the sad story playing is our own, in sharp focus.

  Min pours the tea. Her cheeks are flushed and the tip of her nose is red.

  ‘Gosh, it was cold out there,’ she gasps, putting her hands around her teacup and blowing on it.

  The gold wedding band on her finger slides off and plops into her tea.

  ‘Oh, hell,’ she says and dips her finger in, fishing it out.

  ‘You don’t want to drink your tea now.’

  ‘I’m so cold I couldn’t give a damn.’ Min sips her brew while she puts her ring in her coat pocket.

  ‘Be careful – you don’t want to lose it.’

  ‘It’s a wretched thing. It just won’t stay on.’

  ‘You ought to have got it fitted.’

  ‘We did, but it seems I have lost a little weight since the summer. I shall just have to order more cake, Juno, and fatten myself up again.’

  Min smiles weakly and digs her fork into a large slice of coffee cake. Her hair, damp from the snow, sticks to her face in wet curls, her cheeks are shiny and flushed, and she looks far too young to be a married woman. She is a girl, yet her eyes are dull with dark circles under them, and it is true she has lost a lot of weight, for her cheekbones are more pronounced.

  We are sitting beside the window, but the glass is steamed up and I can no longer see outside. I clear a small pane of glass with the tip of my finger and peer into the gathering dusk.

  ‘It’s still snowing. Perhaps we should take a taxi to the station.’

  ‘Good idea. We can take more time over our tea.’

  The fire crackles beside us. It is ghastly that the room is so bright and cheery, after the bleak gloom of our father’s memorial Mass. The ceilings are low, with original beams, and the walls are covered with small prints of wild flowers and birds. We sit on spindly chairs, with red cushions, at a small wooden table in the window, and beside the fire. Over the fireplace hang small brass pots. They gleam warmly in the pale afternoon, and I can see our distended reflections in them.

  This time two years ago we were in school together, and the thought is quite preposterous that our lives could have changed so much in just two years. We are schoolgirls no longer, nor have a home to speak of, for the house is sold, Father dead, Mother in Italy. I close my eyes for an instant, summoning memories of home in the summer. I can hear it. The dog barking, the bees buzzing around the foxgloves, clippers snipping as they trim the hedge, and the serene momentum of the hourly chime of the church bell. I can smell it. Honeysuckle, and roses, and the tang of the sea, constantly in the air, luring me and Min to play on its shore. All of this is gone, forever. I open my eyes wide and search the face of my sister. All our lives we have been like twins. One half of each other, but since Min has become a wife I cannot help but feel estranged, for I am no longer my sister’s closest confidant.

  ‘Why are you so thin?’ I am suddenly disturbed by my sister’s bony fingers as she spoons more sugar into her tea and stirs it.

  ‘Oh,’ Min sighs, looking at me for a moment as if she is thinking of what to say. She turns away to look out of the window. ‘I have had a busy winter. Now that I am a housewife I seem to have less time to eat than when I was at school. Half the time all we thought about was food, and the other half we tried to eat as much as we could. Remember treacle-pudding nights?’

  She smiles softly, and hums to herself for a moment.

  ‘But now, with Charles’s new business ventures, I have had a lot of entertaining to organize. We are making many new friends in London, Juno, and all of the socializing takes up a great deal of time. When I am so very busy, it affects my appetite.’

  I study her for a moment. She is lying, but why? There seems to be an unspeakable barrier between us now, as if we both reached a crossroads at some point and walked away from each other in quite different directions. It is Min who did this first, when she got married.

  ‘Sometimes I do envy your life, Juno,’ Min says accusingly. ‘All you have to worry about is yourself. You are so preoccupied with your studies that you haven’t been to see me in months. I am only the other side of London.’

  I look down at the tablecloth, and twist its lacy fringe between my fingers.

  ‘And what about Father? You never came with me to visit him,’ Min says harshly.

  ‘I’m sorry, Minim.’

  Min relents, leans over and squeezes my hand. ‘It doesn’t matter now, does it? And you shall come to see me more often, shan’t you?’

  I look up and seek out the old Min in her eyes. But my sister evades my gaze, leaning down, opening up her bag and taking out her cigarette case.

  ‘Well,’ she offers me a cigarette, ‘I have news for you.’

  I freeze, my arm outstretched to take the cigarette. For one moment I think Min is going to tell me she is pregnant.

  ‘I am going to study painting, like I always dreamed of.’

  ‘But what about Charles?’

  ‘He approves,’ she says gaily, lighting our cigarettes. ‘He thinks I am too young to start a family yet.’ Min leans forward, her cigarette in one hand, the smoke pluming behind her towards the door. ‘Juno, I am going to the Slade!’

  ‘That’s wonderful! Oh, Min, you will be right next door to me. We can meet all the time! We can go to the pictures together.’

  ‘Of course,’ Min replies, her eyes shining. ‘It is a shame you can’t lodge with us, for then we could travel together on the Underground.’

  When my place at University College had been confirmed, Father had asked Charles if I could live with him and Min so that they could keep an eye on me. His request had been turned down, much to my father’s chagrin.

  ‘Maybe I could,’ I venture hesitantly.

  Min stops and stares at me as if I am stupid. ‘Oh no, Juno, you would not want to live with us. Oh gosh, no, Charles can be quite contrary – I wouldn’t like you to.’ She becomes flustered, and stubs the cigarette out, looking at her watch. ‘We had better get a move on. I shall see if we can organize a taxi.’

  She gets up from her seat and her coat falls open. She is wearing a black crêpe dress, which hangs off her hips.

  I inhale sharply. My sister looks so frail I wonder if she is sick. And why isn’t Charles here, to be by her side at Father’s memorial Mass?

  Min walks over and talks to the lady behind the counter. I look under the table and Lionel, Father’s dachshund, looks up at me sadly. I bend down and stroke the dog, and he licks my hand, grateful for the attention.

  ‘Oh, Lionel,’ I whisper, ‘what shall we do with you?’

  I want desperately to take him with me, yet I know my landlady would flatly refuse to have him in the house. I can’t hide him, for he would probably bark all day while I am out. But I want Lionel so ba
dly. He is Daddy’s dog, and I want to take care of him. He could keep me company.

  Min comes back over, buttoning up her coat and putting on her hat. ‘She says we shan’t find a taxi at this hour, but her husband will bring us to the station.’ She bends down and unties Lionel’s lead from the table leg. ‘What do you think? Does he suit me? Do I look like a Hollywood starlet with my fancy pooch?’

  She puts her head on one side and smiles seductively at me. Her lips are painted dark red, in a neat bow, and her skin looks even paler than usual in contrast. Her hat is pulled down low, so that it covers her forehead and frames her eyes. She has heavy eye makeup on, which make her eyes look even larger, framed by thick black lashes.

  ‘Yes, you do, Minim. You look like a proper vamp.’

  Min laughs and Lionel jumps up at her, barking. ‘Sit, Lionel! Sit!’ she commands, and the little dog goes back down on his haunches, panting, the tip of his pink tongue lolling out of his mouth. He is chestnut-brown and sleek, with shiny black eyes. His red lead hangs limply in Min’s hand, and he looks up at her expectantly.

  ‘Are you taking Lionel with you? What about Charles, will he allow you to keep him?’ I ask, suddenly panicked that Lionel will be discarded by Min as well.

  ‘Well, if I can’t have a baby, he shall have to put up with Lionel,’ Min says defiantly.

  I laugh, but my sister looks quite serious as we walk towards the door. The little bell tinkles as we step outside into the cold. The snow is falling even heavier now, cascading out of the swirling sky and falling on our eyelashes and lips. Min turns to me, her dark coat covered in white spots, her face opalescent in the gleam of a snowy dusk.

  ‘Everything bad happens at once, doesn’t it, June?’ She picks Lionel up.

  ‘Why, what else has happened?’

  Min pauses, but just as she is about to speak the car pulls up, beeping its horn, and we have to hurry so that we don’t miss the train back to London.